


Politics

by ElyssaCousland



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElyssaCousland/pseuds/ElyssaCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift Fic for Ioialoha: What would happen if, instead of always leading, Elissa encouraged Alistair to learn? AKA Reverse Dragon Age.<br/> Prompt: Elissa Cousland/Alistair. Redcliffe solved, Mages saved, Eamon saved, post-hardening Alistair. He's come to accept the reality of becoming king, but he needs lessons in politics. Early in their relationship. Ends in Sap. Rated M - implied sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politics

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift fic written for a reader on Fan fiction dot net, Ioialoha. 
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> As always, I don't own Dragon Age.

She found him, in the library of all places, in Redcliffe. Not that she thought he was stupid – quite the opposite, actually; he was smarter than he gave himself credit for, most of the time – but after weeks of walking, and fighting, and the emotional turmoil of grieving, reading was possibly the last thing she expected him to be doing.

And it was, essentially, the last thing he was doing, she realised as she crept through the door; he was fast asleep, face flopped down on an open book, snores resonating through the drafty stone room. It was a good thing he didn’t drool, she decided with a soft grin. Much, at least.

Alistair Theirin was possibly the handsomest man Elissa had ever met. His burnished blond hair, aquiline nose, and cheeky smile had won her heart almost right from the beginning, when he turned to face her after teasing a grumpy mage before the battle at Ostagar. He’d been able to wring the first, unwilling smile from her after the massacre of all she held dear, and managed to keep her forward focused and holding a small shred of hope for her future ever since. Despite all the death, and the fighting, and the tragedy, she’d found something, _someone_ , remarkable, and she couldn’t bring herself to regret everything, not anymore.

He had yet to understand the depth of affection she felt for him, which secretly amused her. She knew she acted little better than a blushing school girl, most days, fawning over the tall warrior and barely managing to keep her eyes off his tight behind any time he was in front of her. Everyone else knew – the Orlesian bard she couldn’t quite trust, the Antivan assassin she definitely didn’t; even the witch and the circle mage, who she might have thought would be a bit more oblivious to the ways of the heart, had subtly teased or pried at some point. Perhaps the only person who hadn’t figured it out was the object of her crush, Alistair himself.

Sure, he knew she thought of him as a friend, and he must have noticed she went out of her way to draw him out of himself, to elicit his opinion on various decisions, but she was quite certain he had no inkling that it ran any deeper than that. After his horrendous upbringing – between having to live with Isolde, the most petty-minded noble Elissa could think of, perhaps second only to her cousin Habren, and then being dumped unceremoniously on the Chantry’s doorstep because he was inconvenient – it wasn’t exactly surprising he didn’t recognise her attention for what it really was.

His upbringing was to blame for much, she mused as she watched the page of the open book flutter with each steady breath. He was the heir to Ferelden’s throne, not to mention one of the last two Grey Wardens in the country, and yet, he held no regard for himself. He didn’t even seem to understand how handsome he was. For all of Morrigan’s complaining, Elissa knew she wasn’t the only one inappropriately ogling those broad shoulders or bulging biceps when he emerged from his tent in the morning to wash. But he…he was clueless.

It was the same with his intelligence. Despite a quick wit and a thoughtful thoroughness she relied on heavily when making hard decisions, he was all too quick to believe Morrigan’s claims that he was stupid. It had taken everything Elissa had to counter the drop in self-esteem she could see happening every time almost anyone spoke about Alistair, especially the witch. And she still hadn’t been sure she’d succeeded, not until today.

Telling him he needed to harden up and put himself first more often had hurt Elissa, badly. Alistair was one of the few selfless, altruistic souls in the world, and ruining that would cause her to feel guilty until the day she died. But given who he was, what he was, kindness was going to be the end of him, she knew. Naivety could not be encouraged in someone who was going to be entering the cut-throat business of politics in Ferelden, whether he wanted to or not.

And enter it he would; he looked far too much like the recently deceased Cailan not to be a contender for the throne, regardless of his wishes. And Elissa wasn’t convinced that was a bad thing, overall – Anora had allowed her father to declare a regency for her, despite supposedly being perfectly capable of ruling without a regent, and it made Elissa wonder if there was more going on. Had the Queen been complicit in the murder of her husband at the hands of her father? Elissa shook her head, dispelling the thoughts for a while. There were more important things to think about right now.

Yes, deliberately hurting Alistair to teach him to stand up for himself had nearly killed her, but she’d done it. Just like every other suboptimal choice she’d had since Ostagar, she had done what was necessary. But it didn’t make her feel good, and she had worried it was all for naught anyway, given how quiet he’d been in the days since they’d left Denerim, left his shrew of a sister to rot in her own bitterness.

She’d told him that people were selfish. That they were only out for themselves. That he needed to look out for himself more, to put what he wanted ahead of what others wanted for him. It was a risk; there was no guarantee he wouldn’t take that to mean she was out for herself, wanted something from him, or that he shouldn’t just abandon her and the Wardens entirely to have what he wanted.

She sighed. It was done; there was nothing she could do about it now.

Alistair shifted slightly, in his sleep, and one of the multiple books stacked around him slipped off the table. Quick, like the rogue she was, she grabbed it before it hit the floor and woke him. She wasn’t quite done watching him sleep, and sure didn’t want to be caught doing so.

Looking down at the book in her hands, she realised it was a notebook, mostly blank. The first several pages were filled with cramped, legible but hurried script that she recognised as Alistair’s. She opened to the first page of what she had assumed would be a journal, feeling guilty, but unable to resist the temptation of reading what he’d written.

To her surprise, instead of personal ramblings, there were a variety of quotes, some of which she recognised from Brother Aldous’ lessons while she was growing up, others she didn’t.

The first was “Leadership is solving problems. The day soldiers stop bringing you their problems is the day you have stopped leading them. They have either list confidence that you can help, or concluded you do not care. Either case is a failure of leadership.” She couldn’t remember who’d said that, but the quote was definitely familiar. In Alistair’s scrawled writing underneath was a comment of his own: “And what if they never had confidence in the first place?”

There were a couple of other quotes, some with commentary, some without, from a startling variety of sources. On the next page was one that caught her eye: “It is better to lead from behind and to put others in front, especially when you celebrate victory when nice things occur. You take the front line when there is danger. Then people will appreciate your leadership.” And then Alistair’s comment: “Yeah, ‘cause that worked out so well for Cailan!”

Curious, Elissa closed the notebook and set it on a nearby table, then leaned over to pick up the book off the top of the stack nearest Alistair. And then she picked up a few others, staring at their titles in amazement. There were histories, of Orlais and Tevinter and other places, biographies of Queen Rowan, King Maric, the usurper King Meghren, and many more. There were philosophical treatises on war, leadership, and ruling, as well as detailed descriptions of the workings of politics both within Ferelden and without.

Elissa had honestly expected him to be reading yet another book about griffons. Or the Grey Wardens’ miraculous victories over the previous blights. Even one of the adventure books he was so fond of quoting. She assumed he’d been pouting, blaming her, hating his supposed duty…but here he’d been embracing it. Perhaps not in the most organised fashion, but he’d been trying to learn how to perform the duty that everyone insisted was his.

She’d underestimated him. Just like everyone else he’d ever known, she’d treated him like a child, made assumptions about him and decisions for him; she’d betrayed him every bit as badly as Maric had, leaving his child to Eamon to raise, or as Eamon himself had, shipping him off to the Chantry when he became inconvenient. It was like a blow to the stomach, realising what she’d done. She swallowed thickly, feeling nauseated.

Absent-mindedly, she flipped the pages of one of the biographies of Meghren. She stared blankly at the pages, not even reading what they said, mind a-whirl with sickening thoughts of how she’d patronised Alistair for months, without even realising it. How she hadn’t defended him from Morrigan, hadn’t given him the chance to talk through his loss of the entire order, hadn’t really asked what he thought of his encounter with Goldanna or whether he had changed his mind about wanting his father’s throne. She’d liked him – his open, honest nature and self-deprecating sense of humour – but she hadn’t respected him.

A voice startled her out of her uncomfortable reverie. “Could you think less loudly? I can hear you all the way from here.”

She looked up from the book to see Alistair watching her, brow furrowed. He had the remains of some dried up drool on his cheek, and a clear imprint of the edge of the book he’d been sleeping on across his face; his hair was adorably mussed up, and his clothes were wrinkled.

He was…gorgeous.

She looked away, guilt written plain across her face. She put the stack of books she was holding down on a chair, and clasped her hands together in front of her. She stood awkwardly, looking down at the ugly Orlesian carpet, and scuffed the toe of one well-worn leather boot against the other.

“Um, hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but you should probably go to bed. It’s late….”

“Which begs the question: what are you doing up, ‘Lis?”

“Couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t hear you go to bed – your door squeaks. So I came looking for you.”

“How long’ve you been standing there?”

She flushed. “A while,” she admitted. “I hated to disturb you. And I was curious what you were doing.”

“Nothing,” he replied, too quickly. Defensively. And then his eyes fell on the notebook sitting on the table where Elissa’d left it – not where he’d been writing in it. His face flushed, whether with embarrassment or irritation, she couldn’t tell.

“I wasn’t…okay, I was prying, but…it’s not what you think. I didn’t know it was your notebook. It fell, and I was just curious what you were reading.”

“You know what they say about curiosity, ‘Lis…”

She looked back at his face to see his expression wry, but not angry. She sighed and slid in to sit beside him on the couch. “So what’s all this about, then?”

He shifted to make room, but he was a large man, and it wasn’t a large couch. Their thighs touched, lightly, the heat of her skin warming him even through the leather armour she wore. He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, you and Arl Eamon seem to think I’m to be the King…and I’ll admit, the prospect doesn’t scare me as much as it once did. But…I wasn’t raised for this, like Cailan, with tutors and lessons in politics and diplomacy and such. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Eamon suggested I read some books…” He gestured helplessly at the multiple stacks of heavy, dusty tomes. “But none of them agree with each other. And none of them is really practical for application. They’re all vague and contradictory.”

She smiled. “My father used to give us lessons on politics, sometimes. I mean, Brother Aldous was in charge of our education, but he felt that the Couslands needed to be different than the image of nobility the rest of Ferelden seems to want to adhere to. He thought reading stuffy philosophical papers on the nature of nobility or politics or leadership were useless.”

Her face lit up with the memories as she continued. “Instead, he’d give us a little lesson on this or that, and then take us with him to court to see if we were able to apply that lesson. For example, he’d teach us that trade was important, and that the people in Highever couldn’t survive without lumber from Gwaren, while the people in Gwaren needed the imports from Antiva and the Free Marches that come through Highever’s port. And then he’d take us to court and hear a case about bandits caught disrupting the trade routes to Denerim. And after we’d heard everything, he’d make Fergus or I step up and decide what was to be done.”

“And what did you do?” Alistair’s expression was curious, not judgemental.

“I’d always jump to extreme punishments. Tell father to have him executed. And father would nod, and then hand me a sword. ‘A true leader doesn’t rely on others to carry out their judgements, Ellie,’ he’d say, and then I’d look from his face to the terrified bandit standing in front of me, and I wouldn’t be able to do it. Usually there was a family starving at home or a sick parent or something, and I just…didn’t want their blood on my hands. Sometimes father would take the sword back, and assign another punishment – join the guard, be held in prison, maybe a lashing…other times, he’d execute the perpetrator, because, as awful as that was, sometimes it’s the only thing you can do, and as a leader, sometimes you have to be prepared to get blood on your hands.”

“That’s not helping, you know.”

 

“The point is, hard decisions have to be made, and as a Teyrn, or a King, you have to stand behind them. Make the best decision you can, based on the available information, knowing that sometimes you’ll be wrong. And then live with the consequences. There’s no greater power, and no greater responsibility. But if you asked my father, there was no greater reward, either.”

“I wish I could have met him.”

“So do I. He’d have loved you.”

Alistair looked away shyly, and bit his lip. “You don’t talk about them much.”

She considered. “At first…it hurt too much. And I was afraid if I stopped to mourn, I’d never get going again. And then it was a bit of a habit, I suppose.” She glanced away, flushing slightly. “You don’t talk about Duncan much, either.”

“Same problem, I expect.”

They sat silently for a few moments.

“’Lis?”

“Yes?”

“These books aren’t really going to help me be a good King, are they.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why did Eamon recommend them, I wonder?”

Elissa didn’t answer, but she knew quite well – an ignorant King was an easily controlled King, as Cailan learned the hard way. “Mmm,” she replied, non-commitally.

“You seem to have a pretty good handle on it, though.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, you were trained to be a noble. You know all sorts of stuff about politics and Ferelden. And you’ve been leading us since Ostagar – if I was leading, we’d all be lost in the Frostbacks by now without pants. And Connor would be dead, and we’d never have recruited the assassin, or Sten, or Morrigan for that matter. You’ve kept us all together.”

“Well, I-“ She stopped and thought about it. He was right, sort of. She’d kept her disparate band of renegades and rejects together largely by strength of will. But that didn’t make it remarkable. “Other people could have done it.”

“Maybe. But you did. And I want you to teach me.”

“Pardon?”

“I want to learn as much as I can about Ferelden, and its politics, the major players, the underlying issues…and you’re the perfect person to teach me.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.” He smiled, his green eyes flashing.

Another voice joined the conversation. “I’m with Alistair on this one, my Lady.”

She stood, and so did Alistair. “My Lord. I hope we didn’t disturb you, Bann Teagan.”

“No. And it’s just Teagan, remember? I was just looking for a book to try to help me fall asleep.”

She picked up the open book Alistair had so recently fallen asleep on. “Try this. You wouldn’t be the first to fall asleep reading it.” Not even the first tonight. She snickered, and Alistair shot her a dirty look.

Teagan glanced at the title and grimaced. “No wonder. Flaubert? I didn’t know he’d condescend to write in the common tongue. Eamon’s pick?” Alistair nodded. “Ugh. I think learning from Elissa would be much less odious. And probably less sedating.” Teagan grinned, and Alistair blushed.

“I can’t argue against you both. I’ll try my best.”

Alistair took her hand and squeezed, making Elissa’s heart pound as her fingers easily fit into place laced with his. “Thanks, Elissa. I mean it.”

“Well. Ser Leader, when do you think we should leave for Orzammar?”

“What? Why are you asking me?”

“You wanted to learn about leading – doing it, in small doses with a safety net, is the best way. Remember my story about the bandits?”

He nodded, still looking uncomfortable. “How about…the day after tomorrow? We need to leave soon, but we don’t have time to make sure everyone is ready tonight.”

Elissa smiled. “Good decision.”

********

They did get underway, and the travel was fairly uneventful. They were ambushed a couple of times by darkspawn, and then ran into a stranded merchant in Sulcher’s Pass. As had been Elissa’s way, since the night in Redcliffe, she deferred the decision to Alistair. In a sudden fit of confidence, he took the golem control rod, given freely, and headed them further up Sulcher’s Pass.

As they travelled, Elissa had been explaining the relevant politics in Ferelden. Alistair was a fast learner, and asked clever questions, but he was right – he hadn’t been raised with this sort of thing taught over breakfast. Things she felt were obvious, given her upbringing, he had no idea of at all.

“No, Alistair. I know that it seems like the King, and then the Teyrns, and then the Arls and Banns have the power, but it’s actually the other way around. If the Freeholders don’t approve of their Bann, they can choose to swear fealty elsewhere. If the Banns don’t like the Arl or Teyrn, they can switch allegiances. And each time something like that happens, their liege lord gains or loses income in the form of taxes, influence, political connections…for some Arls, losing a single important Bann could begin the downfall of the entire Arling.

“Likewise, if a King does not do what’s best for the entire nation, the Landsmeet will remove him from power. You know that Cailan almost didn’t end up as the King after Maric died? Nervous about his youth, inexperience, and undue influence from the MacTir family, a number of Banns and Arls tried to raise up my father, instead. The only reason he wasn’t made King is because he threw his support behind Cailan.”

“But that’s…isn’t that treason? To depose the King?”

“Not if they do it legally, in the Landsmeet. Think about it. What if Cailan had been a tyrant? Or just even more incompetent than he was? What if he hadn’t had Anora to run the administrative duties of the country for him? There has to be a mechanism in place to prevent someone like Meghren from remaining King.”

“So if I’m the King, I have to, what? Suck up to the Bannorn?”

“No, that’s not it. You have to do what’s best for Ferelden, whether that means finding a compromise or making a decree and enforcing it…and trust that those underneath you in the hierarchy will do the same. And if one link somewhere doesn’t, they will lose power and be replaced. The higher up you go, the more people need to agree, so no one Bann can depose the King, but enough of them certainly could.”

“And you trust all of those people – Banns, Arls, Teyrns – to do what’s best for Ferelden, not just to look out for themselves? After Loghain, I’d have some trouble believing they’re all just ‘nice people’.”

“Not at all. Most of them are selfish bastards. But their ability to reach too far is strictly limited by those around them. One noble tries to grab too much power, and the rest will rise up to block them. That’s why we are in a civil war right now. The Bannorn don’t agree with Loghain’s power grab, nor with Howe’s. They won’t allow it to stand.

“If it weren’t for the darkspawn, this would be simple. Messy, of course, but simple. Those who oppose Loghain and Howe would raise an army to fight, defeat them, and replace them. The problem is, with the darkspawn encroaching, every soldier who dies in the civil war, every farm burnt, makes it harder for Ferelden to defend itself against the Blight. Civil war is occasionally necessary, as awful as that is, but now is not the time.”

Alistair’s mouth thinned to a line in anger as he contemplated Loghain, the traitor that he’d become. The lesson ended, both Elissa and Alistair wrapped in their own, grim thoughts.

Changes in Alistair’s confidence and maturity were obvious elsewhere, as well. Elissa had not intervened in Alistair’s debates with Morrigan, and the mocking continued; Alistair had, to the witch’s surprise, threatened to kick her out of the group, and Elissa said nothing, backing him up by the simple expedient of not contradicting him. With a thoughtful huff, Morrigan began keeping her opinions to herself.

********

Honnleath was not exactly a fun experience. They fought darkspawn, freed some trapped villagers, and wandered into some mad scientist’s little shop of horrors in search of a frightened little girl. Elissa was starting to regret allowing Alistair to lead, when he made a deal with the demon trying to take over said little girl. She shuffled and fidgeted nervously, watching Alistair muddle his way through a logic puzzle to free the demon, increasingly worried by the second. Would he actually let a demon take over that sweet child? Her Alistair, the former templar?

When he double-crossed the demon, and they killed it without harming Amalia, she was so relieved, so impressed that he was able to maintain the deception, that she didn’t think; she kissed him. And not a light peck, either. She pressed her lips ardently against his, then sucked his lower lip, flicking it with her tongue, and he groaned, whether in confusion or arousal, she couldn’t be sure.

Realising what she’d done, she pulled away, face aflame, and fled from the basement laboratory before he or anyone else could stop her. She left it to him and the group to activate the golem on their own, and returned to camp to hide in her tent. Laying down on her bedroll, she lifted her head and banged it against the hard ground underneath, berating herself for her actions. But she couldn’t deny that what had been attraction for his more obvious superficial charms had turned into something deeper. Seeing his resolve to do what was right, and his ability to lead when not given a choice…He was possibly the sexiest man alive, and being around him, trying to remain professional…was becoming impossible.

She sighed, a couple of tears meandering down her cheek. He’d never indicated in any way that he felt the same about her. He treated her with respect, was even friendly, but no more so than Leliana or Wynne. When she thought about it, he was probably far more interested in Leliana, with her pale, perfect skin and lilting voice.

When the rest of the group filtered back in to camp, she stayed in her tent, avoiding everyone. Finally she was driven out to find food, when her Grey Warden appetite wouldn’t be ignored any longer. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, not wanting to see the mocking, or worse, pity she knew would be there if she caught Leliana’s or even Zevran’s gaze.

When she was done eating, Alistair leaned down behind her and asked, very quietly, to talk to her in private. She stood, anxiously, and followed him out of camp a little ways. She was feeling short of breath, and there was a strange ache in her chest as she contemplated what he was going to say. Would he be angry? Disgusted? Would he try to let her down easily? She resolved to speak first, and excuse her actions before he could say the words.

It was harder to begin talking then she’d thought. “Alistair, I…Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was so relieved that little girl lived that I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to…make you uncomfortable.”

His face was strangely flushed, and he looked away. “No problem.”

“I…we’re like siblings, right? Brother and Sister Grey Wardens? I know that’s all we are. I wasn’t trying to…start anything else.”

“Of course. Siblings.”

Elissa nodded, then turning away, looked back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Alistair.”

“Goodnight, Elissa.” He watched her go, and had she looked back she would have seen a curious mix of disappointment, relief, and melancholy across his handsome face. But she didn’t, and imagined only the relief of someone who didn’t have to extricate himself from unwanted romantic demands.

********

The trip to Orzammar was uneventful; they defeated a couple of groups of bandits and a band of bounty hunters, but arrived at the gates unscathed. Elissa had avoided being alone with Alistair, actually avoided being alone with anyone, and basically only spoke when necessary for the group’s function. The easy camaraderie she’d shared with Alistair from the first day they’d met was now awkward and stilted.

And of course, nothing was ever easy; the gates to Orzammar were closed, and the guards reluctant to let them in. Elissa subtly pushed Alistair forward, and he cajoled the guard until the gates were opened. Elissa gave Alistair a proud smile, and he blushed. Things didn’t get much better once they’d gotten inside, though; the dwarves were killing each other in the streets over who would become the King.

They met with the seconds for each candidate, and then sat down together at Tapster’s as a group to decide where to go from there.

“I don’t trust Bhelen,” Alistair began. “I heard he killed his brother, framed his sister for it, and then poisoned his father to get to the throne.”

Leliana agreed heartily, as did Wynne. Sten, who didn’t care at all but was annoyed by the delay, had gone to bed. Zevran disagreed strenuously.

“And Harrowmont, he is not of the royal bloodline, yes? He weaseled his way in to being a contender – no one except for him can confirm that Endrin named him as a successor. Besides, he is weak,” he scoffed. “Too tied into the concept of dwarven honour to see that their society is doomed. He will destroy Orzammar with inaction and hesitancy.”

Morrigan agreed. “Bhelen may offend your delicate sensibilities, templar, but he is the stronger candidate. He will contribute more to the Blight, and afterwards, the increase in trade will benefit Ferelden.”

Alistair listened to both sides thoughtfully, his handsome face marred by a large frown. When they retired to their rooms, he cornered Elissa before she could close the door.

“You didn’t say what you thought.”

“I’ll follow you, whatever you decide, Alistair.”

“But…they’re both terrible choices! How am I supposed to choose? Wardens are supposed to stay away from politics.”

“So think about it as the future King, instead of as a Warden. Who will benefit Ferelden the most? Whose alliance will improve things for your people? If the dwarves themselves cannot decide who to rule them and place the responsibility on us, I’d say we choose based on what’s best for us.”

Alistair looked frustrated, and Elissa smiled and touched his cheek with her finger. “You’re doing fine. And whatever you pick, I’ll be right behind you.” With that she turned, slipped into her room, and closed the door.

The next day saw the group heading into the Deep Roads after a dwarven lord who was late getting back from an expedition, whose vote was needed to sway the Assembly towards Bhelen. When fighting, as always, Alistair’s frustration and struggle with being the leader dropped away; he ordered each member to perform a task, effortlessly composing battle strategy, and didn’t even stop to think how everyone followed his shouted tactics without comment or complaint. Elissa paused, wondering what had happened to him to make him doubt only the non-battle leadership. She wondered if something had happened at the Chantry, or if it was before that; perhaps Eamon’s little lessons on how Alistair wasn’t in line for the throne had been a lot more emphatic than Alistair had admitted? Thinking about it almost got her killed; she didn’t see the hurlock alpha charging her way, and only a very irritated Alistair prevented her from losing her head over it. Swords clanged right beside her head as Alistair parried the darkspawn’s blade, and then he slammed the alpha back with his shield, where it tripped and was beheaded by Sten.

“Elissa! Get your head back into the game! What are you doing, daydreaming?”

She looked around, stunned, to find the group of darkspawn defeated, and everyone ready to move on except her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, face red with embarrassment. “I won’t let that happen again.”

Alistair sighed and dragged her off to the side a little. “What’s come over you? Is something wrong?”

“No. No, not at all. I just got distracted.”

“Distracted?”

She couldn’t admit that she’d gotten distracted by him, during the fight and again after; despite the dimness of the light and the dirt that coated them all, she was staring into his deep green eyes, mesmerized. “Um. Yeah. I’m…I’ll be fine.” She also wasn’t about to ask the question that ate at her – how had he become convinced he was a terrible leader?

He gave her another strange look, but let it go. Turning back to the rest of the group, he shouted, “Let’s move out!”

They found the missing dwarven noble and rescued him from a large group of deepstalkers; it made negotiating his vote pointless, as he vowed to vote however they wanted him to when it came time. It turned out it was all for naught, however; once they actually got to meet Bhelen, who everyone agreed was a complete sleaze, he just sent them to do yet more of how dirty work. Alistair accepted the new mission with a smile, but when they were safely back inside their rooms at the inn, he paced and railed against the idiocy of Wardens getting involved with stupid, arrogant, shady politicians.

Elissa let him go on until he wound himself down and collapsed beside her on the bench where she sat. She smiled at him and patted his knee. “You did well. You were decisive, politic, and you smiled even when you wanted to strangle him with his own beard. I’m impressed! We’re going to make a politician out of you yet.”

He cursed and snarled, stomping down the hall to his own room, leaving Elissa alone, laughing.

Clearing out the Carta was grueling. Killing untrained dwarves who’d had no choice but to join the Carta if they wanted to eat was wrong, in so many ways, but it couldn’t be avoided, when they attacked rather than ran away. By the end, Alistair’s decision to choose Bhelen was far less controversial. If he altered the caste system even slightly, improving the lives for the hundreds of casteless in Orzammar, it would all be worth it, sleazy or not.

But of course, even that task wasn’t enough, and they soon ended up setting off into the Deep Roads once again, this time in the company of a drunken berserker, looking for what sounded like a madwoman.

The first real clues to her whereabouts they found in Ortan Thaig, along with a pathetic ghost of a dwarf named Ruck. Alistair had listened to the ghoul’s ramblings politely, and then quietly stabbed him to end his suffering. Alistair’s shoulders slumped as the body hit the ground, and he walked off alone to stare at the wall, arms crossed defensively.

Elissa, knowing what that sort of decision cost, couldn’t stop herself; she walked up to him, reached up, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. Neither said anything, but Alistair’s arms crushing her to his chest were all the sign she needed that she’d done the right thing.

To Alistair’s amusement, Elissa, normally fearless and fierce, had a thing about spiders; he wisely chose to keep his comments to himself, but he couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw her examining every ceiling and nook they came across after fighting the spider queen.

After fighting the broodmother, Elissa completely fell apart. Knowing she would one day have to travel alone into the Deep Roads for her Calling, and that if she was unlucky, she’d end up like that had her retching in a corner of the cavern.

Alistair approached carefully, taking off his gauntlets to offer her a hand up from where she knelt, using some water to flush her mouth of her own sick. She clung to his hand after he pulled her up.

“You can’t…you can’t let me end up like that. Promise me, Alistair. Kill me first, whatever it takes, but don’t leave me to turn into that.”

He promised, the decision one of the easiest he’d ever made. It was his turn to pull her in for a hug, just holding her while she cried.

Finding the Legion of the Dead was fortuitous, and making their way through all of Caridin’s traps to find not only Branka, but Caridin himself, was nothing short of miraculous. Deciding what to do about the golems was one of the hardest decisions Alistair had had to make in his life. When the fight was over, and Branka was dead, he sat down with Elissa to talk it through.

“Did I make the right decision?”

She smiled indulgently. “Tell me why you made the decision you did.”

He sighed. “I…just couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d allowed her to be rewarded for what she did.”

“And why not?”

“Why not? Why…How can you even ask me that? She allowed her friends, her family to be taken, to be turned…I’d have killed them all and myself first to save even one person from their fate. She sold them into it! She didn’t deserve to be a Paragon, didn’t deserve to have a house dedicated to her, if she was going to betray them like that.”

He settled back again, fury spent. “And if she was unethical enough to let her family turn into that…there’s not a single chance she’d have used the Anvil for good. I know an army of golems would have been invaluable against the Blight, but…not at that price.”

“And that’s how you know you made the right decision.” She smiled. “And why I know you’ll be the best King Ferelden’s ever seen. You put your people, not yourself and your goals, first.”

He smiled wearily, unable to summon the enthusiasm for a full grin. “I want to get out of this stupid mountain.”

She stroked his hand softly. “Agreed. Let’s get out of here.”

The trip back to Orzammar was quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Had Elissa been paying attention, she’d have noticed the thoughtful looks Alistair sent her way, but she was too focused on her own horror at her future to see it.

They finally made it back outside, after crowning Bhelen; they stepped outside into the cold morning air, and the first thing Elissa did was lay down on a grassy patch where the snow had melted in the sun and roll around, giggling madly as she got dry brown grass in her hair and down her armour. Everyone laughed, before several of them joined her, laying on the ground, staring up at the most beautiful sight: blue sky. Oghren was less impressed, but nothing could dampen Elissa’s good mood from getting back outside.

At camp, that first night, after setting up tents and eating supper, Alistair joined Elissa as she star-gazed away from the fire.

“It’s beautiful,” she commented, admiring the twinkling points of light, as she laid on her back staring up.

“It is,” he replied, admiring the way the distant lights reflected in her dark eyes, the way the glow from the campfire made her skin seem iridescent.

She met his eyes in confusion as he went up on one elbow, looming over her. “Here. Do you know what this is?”

And he gave her a rose. She didn’t even listen to what was said after that, because as she stared at the beautiful red bloom, an internal war waged between the large, skeptical part of her that knew he didn’t feel that way about her, that he’d made a mistake and meant it as a friendship present only, and the small sliver that hoped, that didn’t think there was room for doubt about his intentions.

And then he was kissing her, and she melted into his arms, returning his kisses ardently. He rolled forward to partially pin her to the ground, and she gasped as she finally felt that hard body that she’d admired for so long pressed against hers.

“Alistair,” she moaned between kisses, desperate to say what needed to be said. “I love you.”

And the reverent way he growled her name as he pulled her even closer was all that she needed to hear. It was the same voice she heard roar in completion, later, in her tent, as weeks and months of pent up longing, and frustration, and fear were released in one delicious, heady act.

She was a little embarrassed, the next morning, knowing that all of her companions must have heard what had happened in the night; they hadn’t exactly been discreet. But Alistair insisted that she stay in the tent until he’d had a moment to deal with everyone; when he asked her to come out, she received a wide smile from Leliana, a sniff from Morrigan – was it disgust, or jealousy? – and everyone else minded their own business.

Travel was much easier after that. Elissa had never been so happy, and it showed in how enthusiastic she was talking to her companions, and the bounce in her step as she walked hand-in-hand with her love. Even Oghren’s crude jokes – ‘What did you do with her legs? Ah, just got them out of the way and went about your business. Good on you, son.’ – could not offend her. And Zevran’s poor offer of advice – on their ‘exertions’ and how Alistair could take some herbs to improve performance – only succeeded in making her giggle.

The best, though, was when Wynne cornered him for a ‘birds and bees’ talk. When he shouted out “Andraste’s Flaming Sword, I know where babies come from!” Elissa laughed so hard she had to stop and sit down to catch her breath. Alistair stormed off, but it didn’t stop him from sharing her tent that night.

Not long after that, Alistair’s attitude towards Wynne, who he’d always treated as somewhat of a grandmother, changed dramatically. He wouldn’t sit and talk with her any more, would ignore her subtle teasing and stomp off alone. When she admonished him for being injured, he was sarcastic and even occasionally rude. Finally Elissa couldn’t stand it anymore, and asked him what was wrong.

“Why are you being so curt with Wynne? What’s wrong, love?”

He sighed and sat down beside her on the bedroll they shared. “She’s an old busybody who can’t keep her nose out of anyone’s business.”

“What in the Void happened? I thought you loved her like a grandmother.”

“Yeah, well, only until she told me I should leave you ‘for the good of Ferelden’. She said we would distract each other from our duties as Grey Wardens. That I could hurt you and we’d be unable to move on, or would choose each other’s safety over that of Ferelden. She was going to come talk to you about it when I dismissed her concerns, but I stopped her. Whatever happens, I am not letting you go. We’re together to the end, and she can keep her fears to herself.”

She smiled proudly and fell into his arms, and he proceeded to show her how serious he was, repeatedly and loudly for half the night.

They arrived at Redcliffe and set off for Denerim for the Landsmeet. Their impromptu lessons on politics continued, whenever something arose; they spent quite a bit of time talking about each of the decisions they’d made since Ostagar. When they travelled past the Brecilian forest, it brought out some interesting topics. Even though Elissa had been calling the shots when they met with the Dalish, prior to going to Redcliffe and Alistair revealing his heritage, they talked through the choices she’d been presented with. She was again impressed with his assessment of the situation, and they both felt the same relief that they had gotten lucky – the werewolves were cured, and the elves allied with the Wardens after Zathrian’s death.

In Denerim, Alistair had gone without her to Howe’s estate. He didn’t want her to be responsible for killing Howe, if it came to that; as much as she wanted to take the killing blow, he knew it would change her. He had been successful, until Anora betrayed him and he was captured; he had then tricked a guard into coming too close, and incapacitated the man to effect his escape from Fort Drakon. Elissa and Leliana met him halfway between there and Eamon’s estate; they’d been coming to rescue him disguised as prostitutes to get past the guards.

There were Tevinter slavers in the Alienage, and Alistair declared that he would not suffer his people to be enslaved. He freed those elves he could, and vowed to send someone to Tevinter to try to rescue the rest after the Blight was over.

The Landsmeet was a total circus. Anora showed herself a traitor, claiming Alistair had kidnapped her; he had been clever enough to have sent some of Sergeant Kylon’s guards to escort her from Eamon’s to the Landsmeet chamber, and when they testified that she was lying, she was removed from the chamber under guard. The Landsmeet sided with Alistair after a rousing speech about fighting the darkspawn and restoring honour to the nobility, and he chose to duel the older man himself when Loghain would not step down.

The duel was harrowing, and Elissa bit her nails to the quick as she watched Alistair and Loghain clash over and over again. In the end, Alistair’s youth and stamina could not be overcome, and Loghain fell. Before Alistair could end it, Riordan, a senior Grey Warden they had found in the dungeon at Howe’s estate, stopped them and implored Alistair to spare Loghain’s life; he proposed that Alistair recruit Loghain.

Though initially opposed, Elissa could see the sense in having another Grey Warden to combat the Blight. Before she could even talk to him about it, however, Alistair had agreed and recruited Loghain, to Elissa’s utter shock. There was a hue and cry from the nobles at the Landsmeet, but Alistair calmly declared that, as King and Queen, he and Elissa would require all the Wardens they could get in order to assure their survival, followed by peace for the rebuilding.

Elissa wasn’t sure which to be more shocked by: that Loghain had been allowed to survive, that she was betrothed, or that she was to become Queen. She had purposefully not discussed their future with Alistair, knowing she was likely to lose him to duty, one way or the other, but he continued to surprise her. That night, he proposed formally in front of all their friends; even Eamon wasn’t able to find anything sour to say about the betrothal.

When, back in Redcliffe, Riordan finally spilled the news that a Warden had to die to end the Blight, Alistair smiled grimly. “I wondered, you know, why only a Grey Warden could end the Blight.” He turned to Loghain. “Should Riordan fail, this will be your atonement, Warden Loghain. You will die to protect the country you tried to destroy with your paranoia.”

Loghain agreed, wordlessly; it was clear he wasn’t surprised, nor did he have a real choice.

Alistair and Elissa spent that entire night awake in each other’s arms, making love, cuddling, and just talking – about their future, about their wedding…anything but the upcoming battle. And when Morrigan knocked on Elissa’s door in the middle of the night, neither of them even noticed.

In the morning, Morrigan was gone, but none of the Wardens had time to think too much about it, with the imminent march followed by a battle. When they reached Denerim, each destroyed building, each citizen they’d failed to save, hit hard, but they continued forward, desperate to save anything they could. Climbing to the top of Fort Drakon took hours, fighting as they were not only darkspawn, but grief – Riordan fell from the back of the dragon, ending the life of one of the last four Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

When Loghain finally ended the battle by impaling the Archdemon on a borrowed sword, an explosion of white light knocked everyone on the roof of Fort Drakon over onto their backs. As Elissa slowly came to, her first image was that of Alistair standing over her, a beatific smile on his handsome, dirt-streaked face, his hand held out to help her up. When she was standing, he kept her hand, raising it up in triumph to show the world that together, he and Elissa were unstoppable.

Loghain was honoured for his role in killing the Archdemon, but given his prior misdeeds, his legend faded quickly into obscurity. Instead, a new legend was born, about a Warden-King and his bride. They rushed the coronation and the wedding, eager to get down to the business of recovering. Vast tracts of the south of Ferelden were tainted, but through politics, Alistair was able to negotiate aid from the Free Marches, Orlais, and Nevarra, and the people rebuilt further north.

The two forged connections with Orzammar, through Bhelen, who at least admitted his debt to those who earned him his throne, and dwarven stone masons were sent to help rebuild Denerim. Ostagar was reclaimed by the Dalish, and Amaranthine was granted to the Grey Wardens. A new Orlesian Warden Commander was sent from Montsimmard, and was actually less objectionable than everyone expected.

After a year of trying to conceive, Elissa suffered from two miscarriages back-to-back, and the healer was forced to advise the young Queen not to get pregnant again. However, during the recovery, the three-year-old orphan of a servant in the royal palace had been discovered who looked suspiciously familiar; paternity was confirmed, and Alistair and Elissa were quick to adopt Cailan’s bastard child as their heir. They were both soon devoted to the boy, named William; from the outside, no one would have known that they were anything other than a happy family.

And as William grew up, and began asking how Alistair and Elissa had fallen in love, the two would look at each other, still besotted despite the years and all of the hardships, and reply in unison: “Politics.”


End file.
